Chapter 19

Avery’s POV

The next morning arrived, dragging me from a deep sleep. My body felt rested, a respite I owed to Emily’s care the night before, but my mind carried the threads of yesterday—the formality of the boardroom, the kitchen laughter, and the peace I found at the orphanage, a peace Fiona and Lily coaxed from me.

The chauffeur dropped me at the campus gate. I stepped out with my bag over my shoulder, the air brisk, full of the usual cacophony: sharp chatter, bursts of laughter, and the thud of footsteps.

I had not walked twenty steps before a cheer drew my attention. I slowed my pace, curiosity overriding my stride. A cricket match.

Large, colorful banners whipped in the breeze, announcing: Inter-College Cricket Championship: Registrations Open! My heart skipped, then surged with adrenaline.

“Cricket,” I whispered, the word alive on my tongue, a wide grin tugging at my lips. “Now this is my language.”

Without hesitation, I strode toward the registration desk, feeling the thrum of competition in my veins. The student volunteer, a young man with nervous energy, looked up. “Oh, Avery Von Carter? Can I help you?”

“Yes,” I said, pulling the form closer, scrawling my name with decisive strokes, a declaration more than a signature. “Sign me up.”

He blinked, surprised at the finality of my decision. “You do know the first elimination match is the day after tomorrow, right? That is no time to practice.”

I smirked, sliding the pen across the table. “Good. That is enough time to remind my muscles they are alive and ready to dominate.”

Walking away, I felt a buzz in my chest. Something active to look forward to. Something competitive that was mine.

By the time I entered the lecture hall, the energy of the field lingered in me, a hum beneath my composure. Elize and Victoria sat at their corner, whispering about campus gossip.

As I slid into my spot, Elize glanced at me, her expression shifting from gossip to observation. “You look happy for someone walking into this class,” she teased, a raise of her dark eyebrow.

I leaned back, folding my arms, letting my grin widen. “Maybe I found a reason to breathe. Inter-college cricket competition. I just signed up.”

Victoria’s eyes widened. “You are playing? The full tournament?”

“Of course,” I replied with a confident grin. “The first match is the day after tomorrow. Don’t blink, or you’ll miss me making history.”

Before they could respond with the required mix of skepticism and awe, the sound of heels against the floor cut through the chatter. I frowned. Something about the sound felt different.

The door opened. It was not Ms. Rose. It was Ms. Collway.

The murmurs in the class rose. Some students exchanged glances; others straightened up, expressions etched with disappointment.

“Good morning,” Ms. Collway said, her tone academic but lacking the commanding edge Ms. Rose carried. “Professor Rose won’t be here today due to personal matters. I’ll be taking over her lecture.”

Her words fell like cold stones into water. My heart dipped, an unexpected emptiness stirring in my chest—as though the spark that kept me alert in this class had flickered out.

Absent? Personal matters? She launched into the lecture, her voice methodical but uninspiring. I sat there, pen in hand, but my mind wandered.

I thought about the kinetic energy of the cricket match. About the comfort of dinner with Emily. About the warmth of the orphanage.

And then, sharply, about Ms. Rose’s absence and the realization of how much her critical presence had started to matter—even when she was there only to scold, to challenge, to push me to be more. For the first time in weeks, I was present in this classroom, but not mentally.

When the lecture ended, Ms. Collway gathered her things and walked out. Students began filing out, stretching and chatting, relieved by the reprieve.

I packed my bag. For once, I wasn’t in the mood to linger, wasn’t in the mood to waste my free hours. The orphanage, I decided. I should visit today. Now.

The car pulled up outside the creaky iron gates of the orphanage. The sun tilted westward, throwing golden rays over the red-brick building, and a breeze carried the chatter of children from the courtyard.

For most, this was just another evening in a peaceful part of the city. For me, it was a homecoming.

Not my home in the mansion sense, but the orphanage was the place that made me feel grounded, miles away from the corporate image of being a Von Carter. Here, I was not the untouchable heiress or the nervous intern. Here, I was just Avery.

As soon as I pushed open the gates, a voice greeted me before the children even could. “Well, look who decided to remember we exist this week.”

I rolled my eyes and turned toward the source of the sarcastic remark. Standing there with arms folded and an irritating smirk was Fiona.

“Don’t start, Fiona,” I said, brushing my hair back with an exasperated sigh. “I’ve been busy, as you know.”

Her brow arched, her smirk deepening into a knowing grin. “Busy? With your empire-saving meetings or making out with girls in parking lots?”

I froze, choking on my own breath. “What—how—wait, who told you that?”

She burst out laughing, a hand covering her stomach as she doubled over. “Relax, princess. No one told me anything. It is written all over your face that you have been up to mischief.”

I groaned in frustration. “You are impossible.”

“And yet you love me,” she said smugly, waving toward the main building. “Come on, let’s see if you still remember your way around, you unreliable heir.”

Before I could formulate a response, a high-pitched voice broke through the air. “AVERY!!!”

I barely had time to brace myself before a small, energetic whirlwind in the form of Lily came racing across the courtyard. Her tiny shoes pounded the ground, her pigtails bouncing, and her arms open as if she were about to take flight.

“Be careful, you wild thing!” I called, but it was too late. She leapt straight at me, and I caught her, folding her into my embrace. She hugged me with the force of her small frame, nearly knocking me onto the stone pathway.

“You didn’t come!” she accused, her voice muffled against my shirt, sounding betrayed. I looked down at her face, her eyes wide with a mix of anger and joy. My heart squeezed. “Awww… you missed me that much?”

“Of course I did!” she said, before planting a fast, sticky kiss on my cheek as if sealing her words with proof. I laughed, tightening my squeeze. “Well, I missed you too, my little bug.”

Behind me, Fiona let out a mocking snort. “And yet you hardly ever visit. Do you know she asks about you every single day?” A pang of guilt pricked me, but I masked it with a grin. “That just proves I’m unforgettable.”

“Unbelievably irresponsible is more like it,” Fiona muttered, though her eyes softened as she watched me cradle Lily.

I shifted Lily and made my way inside. The air smelled of old books, soap, and warm meals—the kind of homeliness that money could never buy.

The walls were fresh, the floors scrubbed, and the children’s laughter echoed through the halls. “Things look good,” I murmured to Fiona, nodding at the order.

Fiona followed. “Of course they do. Who do you think runs this place? You? Please. This is my kingdom, Avery. I keep it standing, not your fancy family name or checks.”

Her words were not a jab—they were the truth. I respected her for that blunt honesty. “I know that, Fi,” I said quietly. “That is why I trust you to manage this place more than anyone.”

Fiona’s lips twitched, as though she were trying not to smile. She didn’t reply, but the silence between us was warm and accepting.

Just then, Lily tugged at my sleeve. “We’re playing football outside! You have to join us!”

“Football?” I repeated with dread. “Do you mean to tell me you want me, the refined Avery Von Carter, to get dirt on her expensive shoes?”

“Yes!” Lily said, her face lighting up with determination. “You’re on my team! You have to help us win!”

Fiona chuckled from the sidelines. “Better get ready, princess. These kids play rough. No corporate bailouts here.”

The courtyard buzzed with energy. Two makeshift goalposts—rusted buckets—sat at either end of the uneven field. Children lined up, their bare feet eager against the dirt, faces flushed with excitement. As soon as they saw me join, they erupted into cheers. “Avery’s here! Avery’s playing! Lily’s team is going to win!”

I felt warmth spread through my chest, chasing away the corporate chill. Out there, I was another Von Carter who had to prove her worth. Here, I was simply their Avery—the one who laughed, listened, and played without pretense.

“Alright,” I clapped my hands, lowering Lily to the ground. “Who is ready to lose?”

“You are!” the children chorused, giggling.

The game began, and chaos ensued. Dust rose in little clouds as legs raced after the ball. Lily clung to my hand, dragging me toward the action, and I pretended to stumble several times.

“Careful, I might fall and break my leg!” I exclaimed with panic.

“Don’t be lazy!” she scolded, her determination making me laugh.

At one point, a boy half my height snatched the ball from me. “Not fair!” I cried with outrage, running after him. The children burst into laughter at my theatricality.

Minutes blurred into a whirlwind of shouts and noise. The ball rolled past me, and I ended up sprawled on the ground once when Lily tripped me up.

Fiona, watching from the sidelines, called out, “What happened to your Von Carter dignity, Avery?”

I raised a dusty hand in despair. “It died right here, Fiona, on this field.”

By the time the game ended, we were out of breath, dirty, and laughing. Lily collapsed beside me on the grass, her hair sticking to her forehead. “You were terrible, Avery,” she teased between giggles.

I poked her side. “Excuse me, I was magnificent. I allowed you all to win. It is called being a gracious opponent.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sure, Avery. Whatever makes you sleep tonight.”

I laughed, staring up at the darkening sky. For a moment, I forgot the weight of the name, the expectations, the meetings. Here, surrounded by Fiona’s sarcasm and Lily’s warmth, I was simply me. And that was enough.

The sun was gone, dipping beyond the skyline. The courtyard echoed with fading laughter, but one by one, the children retreated indoors, coaxed by the scent of food drifting from the kitchen.

Lily tugged at my hand. “Dinner! Come eat with us, Avery! Please!”

I glanced at Fiona, who stood by the doorway, arms folded, watching me. “Well?” she asked, tilting her head. “Or do the great Von Carters have more important, sterile banquets to attend?”

I smirked, pushing myself up from the grass, dusting off my jeans. “Not tonight, Fi. I am booked.”

The dining hall was simple but vibrating with life—wooden tables, mismatched chairs, and walls covered in crayon drawings that spoke louder than any abstract painting. The children were seated, bowls of rice and curry passed around.

The chatter was endless, voices bouncing off the walls like joyful music. Lily dragged me toward a vacant seat. “Here, Avery, sit here! You have to sit next to me!”

I slid into the chair, and a little boy across the table leaned forward, eyes bright. “Did you really fall during football, Avery? You looked silly!” he asked, grinning.

I shot him a glare of seriousness. “I let you win, young man. That is called being generous. You wouldn’t understand.” The table erupted in giggles.

Fiona, moving between tables with a ladle, shook her head. “Generous? You couldn’t keep up with Lily, you liar.”

“Traitor,” I muttered at Fiona, making Lily laugh so hard she almost spilled her bowl.

For the next half hour, I was caught in a whirl of conversations—kids proudly telling me about their school day, showing me drawings, asking me silly questions like whether rich people eat ice cream every day for breakfast. I answered them all with detail, and their laughter filled every corner of the room.

At one point, Lily leaned against my shoulder, her voice softening. “I like it when you’re here, Avery.”

I froze, feeling an ache in my chest, before resting my hand on her back. “Me too, bug. Me too.”

When the children finished their dinner and were shepherded off to wash up, Fiona caught my eye. “Come,” she said, her tone quieter, all business.

I followed her into her office—a room lined with books, files, and a desk cluttered with paperwork. The glow of a lamp softened her features as she sat opposite me.

“You’re still doing your secret inspections, aren’t you?” she asked, her lips twitching.

“Always,” I admitted with a shrug. “It is not that I don’t trust you, Fiona. I just… I don’t know. It gives me peace, seeing things, touching things, with my own eyes. My father insists on oversight.”

Fiona studied me before leaning back. “You sound more like your father every day, Avery. The control is getting heavier.”

I stiffened at the mention of him. “Don’t compare me to him, ever.”

She raised her brows, unfazed. “I didn’t mean it as an insult. Just an observation. He carries the weight of absolute control, and so, increasingly, do you. Except…”—her gaze softened—”you carry it with real emotions. He never does that.”

I let out a breath, staring at my hands. “Because he doesn’t care if he breaks people. I do. I truly do.”

Silence stretched between us. Fiona leaned forward, her expression earnest. “That is why I trust you to take care of this place long after I can’t. You might not come often, but when you do—you are present. The kids see it. Lily feels it, down to her bones.”

Her words hit deeper than I expected. My throat tightened, and I masked it with my usual defense—a smirk. “Careful, Fiona. That almost sounded like praise.”

She smirked back. “Don’t get used to it, princess.”

We chuckled, but in that moment, I understood—this place was not just a responsibility. It was a vital part of me.

By the time I stepped out of the orphanage, the night had fallen. The courtyard was quiet, lit by the yellow glow of the lamps. I could still hear giggles drifting from the dormitory, Lily’s voice unmistakable.

As I walked toward my car, Fiona called from the doorway. “Don’t disappear for too long, Avery. Some of us actually miss you when you’re gone.”

I looked back, my smirk in place. “Was that you admitting you miss me, Fiona?”

She rolled her eyes, throwing up her hands. “Go home before I change my mind and make you stay to do my paperwork.”

With a laugh, I slid into the car. As the driver started the engine, I glanced at the glowing building. My heart felt full—lighter, warmer, and at peace.

The mansion stood in darkness when I returned. Its halls, its polished floors, and its chandeliers glittered in the night—it all looked majestic but hollow. The kind of hollow that lacked human warmth.

I pushed the heavy doors open, and the scent of roasted herbs and bread hit me. My stomach did not stir with hunger. It was full from the orphanage dinner—Lily’s hands had been insistent, pressing spoon after spoon of curry toward my mouth until I surrendered.

Now I was walking into a world of performance. Before I could take three steps, a voice rang out from the kitchen corridor.

“Oh, my darling, finally! Come, look what I have cooked for you!”

Emily emerged, her apron tied snug, her cheeks flushed. She looked like the devoted figure she had always been, her eyes bright with pride as if preparing this dinner was the most critical task in the world.

I gave her a tired smile, raising one brow. “Emily, what is the occasion? You’re glowing.”

She placed her hands on her hips. “Occasion? The only occasion is that you have finally come home after a day of corporate warfare. Isn’t that reason enough for me to cook you something special?”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “You always find reasons.”

She gestured toward the table, set impeccably. “Now, come. Sit. You will faint from hunger if you don’t eat.”

I hesitated, slowing my steps, and in that pause, Emily’s observant eyes caught something in my face. I sat down, pulling the chair out, and glanced at the spread—roasted chicken, potatoes, bread, and salad. It looked heavenly.

But my stomach rebelled at the thought of another bite. I picked up the fork, twirling it, hoping she wouldn’t notice my lack of appetite.

But Emily always noticed the details. She crossed her arms, narrowing her gaze in suspicion. “Strange,” she murmured.

I froze. “What is strange, Emily?”

Her lips curved into a knowing smile, the kind that meant she had caught me in mischief. “You sit at the table, but your eyes don’t sparkle. Your fork moves, but your appetite doesn’t twitch. Tell me truthfully—did you have dinner somewhere else?”

My heart gave a jolt. “N-no… of course not,” I stammered, the fork clattering against the plate.

Emily tilted her head, studying me with X-ray vision. And then, she laughed. A rolling, genuine laugh that filled the dining hall.

“Oh, don’t look so terrified,” she said, waving her hand. “Your secret is safe with me, my dear.”

I blinked, still caught in my denial. “What secret?”

She leaned closer, her smile widening with mischief. “When Lily fed you with her own two hands, of course you would be full. It is unavoidable.”

My jaw dropped. I stared, thrown off balance. “H-how—how did you—”

“—know?” she finished for me, raising one brow. “Well, my darling, you are not as mysterious as you believe.”

I leaned back, eyes narrowing. “Okay, Emily… what exactly do you know, and how long have you been keeping this from me?”

Her eyes twinkled, but there was something deeper, a knowing that stretched beyond dinner. She untied her apron and draped it over the chair before sitting down, folding her hands like a storyteller ready to unravel a tale.

“One day,” she began, her voice calm, “a certain young lady—whose surname begins with Von Carter—came home one night not in her senses.”

My face burned with humiliation. “Emily, please—”

She raised a firm hand, silencing me. “Patience, Avery. Let me finish. She was tipsy—no, let’s be honest, quite drunk. And as any decent caretaker would, I helped carry her to her room. Her phone kept buzzing. Persistent. I thought, perhaps it is urgent. So I answered.”

My hands slid down, revealing my horrified eyes. “You answered my phone?”

Emily smirked. “Of course. I couldn’t ignore it. And who was on the other end? None other than the wonderful Fiona.”

The name dropped like a pebble, sending ripples through my chest. Memories of shared moments with Fiona flashed.

Emily tilted her head, observing my reaction. “She was worried. She asked repeatedly if you had reached home. She asked if you needed anything. And then,” she paused, “she told me pointedly not to let you skip your responsibilities. That you had promised to visit the children. That Lily would be waiting.”

I swallowed hard, words caught between denial and confession. “And you never told me about this?”

She shrugged, her expression shifting into something soft. “Because I wanted to see if you would ever tell me. But you didn’t. Not a word. You carried it on your shoulders, as if secrecy was your greatest strength.”

Her words cut through me. I exhaled, slumping back into the chair, defeated. “I… I didn’t know how to explain it. The orphanage, Fiona, Lily… it doesn’t fit the picture of a Von Carter, does it? A family built on wealth and power, not charity and warmth.”

Emily’s eyes softened, her lips curving into something maternal. “Oh, Avery. You carry such heavy things on your own. Do you know what I see when I look at you?”

I looked up, my voice a whisper. “What?”

“I see a girl who pretends she’s untouchable, but who secretly longs for warmth. I see a girl who thinks that showing love is a weakness, yet who can’t say no when a little child holds a spoon to her lips.”

Her words left me feeling bare, exposed in ways I disliked but could not deny. I chuckled dryly, trying to mask the knot in my throat. “You make me sound like a tragic novel heroine.”

She leaned forward, her eyes fierce but compassionate. “You make yourself sound like a predictable Von Carter clone. I know better. You’re Avery. My Avery. And that person is enough.”

For a significant moment, absolute silence wrapped around us. My heart ached—with a warmth I hadn’t felt in years.

Finally, I let out a shaky laugh. “So what happens now? You’ll tease me forever about Lily feeding me dinner?”

Emily grinned, leaning back with satisfaction. “Oh, absolutely. I’ll never let you live it down.”

I groaned, covering my face. “You are impossible.”

“And you,” she said with a wink, “are sweetly predictable. Don’t worry, darling. Your secret is safe with me. Fiona already knows all the details, after all.”

The way she said the final words left me both comforted and unsettled by the depth of her understanding.